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FORTY TWO
Last Updated:
2025-09-14 23:48:47
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Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN
The room was silent except for the slow, rhythmic hum of the projector. The light carved pale shapes on the opposite wall, a looped recording of Bruno’s death. The sound was muted, but the image was clear: the tremor in Bruno’s hand, the brief flicker of defiance in his eyes, and then the stillness that followed the flash.Dan leaned back in his chair. His hands rested loosely on the armrests, fingers tapping once, an absent gesture of thought, not emotion. The house was mostly empty now. The auction had ended hours ago. The guests had been ushered out, drunk on blood and spectacle, leaving behind the stench of perfume, sweat, and fear.He had watched the entire thing unfold in real time, yet he played it again. Not because he needed to see Bruno die. He already knew the outcome. He was studying what came before. The hesitation. The weight of a man who finally understood he was outmatched.He couldn’t believe that Bruno was once loyal to him until he pulled out and entered the shado
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN
Bruno’s hand shook as he dropped the phone, his knuckles white around the glass of whiskey that followed. He had just told Antonio he wanted out. He wanted out of the deal, out of the plans, out of this stupid vendetta against Dan. It wasn’t worth it anymore, it had slipped into something personal for him now . Not with the way Dan’s shadow reached into every corner of his world. He thought of the pains his son was going through and he wanted those pains inflicted upon him instead. Antonio hadn’t tried to convince him. He’d simply gone quiet, the kind of silence that meant both men understood the same truth: once you said no to Dan, there was no such thing as “out.”Bruno finished the whiskey in one swallow and set the glass down on the marble counter. The house was immaculate, too big for one man, every surface polished to reflect a version of himself he didn’t recognize anymore. He already knew there would be a note waiting. He didn’t need to look for it.Still, when he saw the t
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN
IThe doors to Dan’s office closed with a soft, deliberate click. It was the kind of sound that could silence a heartbeat. It should have rattled Storm and Ark but they've been through worse. The room was dim and elegant, all shadows and golden edges. There was no clutter, just power arranged neatly: leather chairs, mahogany desk, the faint smell of expensive cigars that hadn’t been smoked in weeks. A man like Dan didn’t need to hide the evidence of his vices. His vices were the evidence.Storm thought that his red mask was hideous, but it might have held a meaning. “Storm,” he said, voice smooth as wine, slow as poison. “You took your time.”Storm’s jaw tightened. “You never did like punctual people.”He smiled. The kind of smile that made people shift uncomfortably because it meant he was thinking six moves ahead. “On the contrary, I like order. I just enjoy watching people disobey it.”Ark was silent beside her, his presence filling the room like a warning. His height alone made
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN
Nathan woke to movement.The world came back to him in fragments, the low hum of tires, the soft rhythm of rain against glass, the faint vibration of an engine. He tried to open his eyes but they would not comply. They opened slowly, heavy with the weight of sleep that wasn’t sleep at all. His vision was blurred, the edges of the world still bleeding into one another.He was in a car. The passenger seat.And someone was driving.For a moment, he didn’t recognize the road. There was only the flicker of streetlights sliding across the windshield, each one a brief pulse of white, then gone. The sky outside was dark, almost blue-black, like it hadn’t decided whether to be night or dawn.Nathan tried to move, but his limbs didn’t respond. His fingers twitched weakly against the seat, his head lolled to the side. A deep ache pulsed behind his eyes. His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy.Then he saw him.The man behind the wheel wasn’t Jaylen. The resemblance was uncanny, but this face was sh
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN
Nathan sat in his office, his fingers turning the small orange bottle over and over. The label had started to fade from how often he’d handled it. He read the half faded name on the bottle. Escitalopram 20mg, a name that had almost become a mantra in the past week. He wasn’t sure if the pills were helping anymore or if they were just a way to make time pass without feeling it crush him.It had been more than a week since Ark disappeared.A week of silence. No calls. No sightings. No voices. Nathan had even stopped dreaming about him completely. It was Too quiet. Far too quiet.He stared at the blinds, watching streaks of sunlight crawl across his desk. It reminded him of the way a heartbeat monitor would blink, steady and repetitive. His heart, however, wasn’t steady.The phone buzzed, jolting him out of his thoughts. The name on the screen made his stomach tighten, it was the University Chancellor.He cleared his throat before answering. “Good morning, Mr. Hawkins.”“Good mornin
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
The hotel room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made Storm’s pulse too loud in her own ears.Outside, the city hummed, a low, endless growl beneath the rain-soaked streets, but in here, it was only the faint ticking of the clock and Ark’s steady breathing.He stood by the window, arms folded, his tall frame still like a statue carved out of wrath itself. The muscles in his jaw twitched every time she moved. He didn’t like waiting, didn’t like the silence. And she could tell that beneath his cold, unreadable stare, he was seething.Storm sat on the edge of the bed, her phone in her hand, staring at the encrypted message she’d just received.“He’s coming,” she said finally.Ark turned, his voice low. “Who?”She didn’t look up. “Antonio’s man. His name’s Bruno. He said he’ll be here soon.”His eyes narrowed. “Here? In our room?”“Yes.”Ark’s silence was heavy, thick with disapproval. He took a slow step toward her. “You trust this man?”“I don’t trust anyone,” she said simply, setti
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